“The Developing Zone is Very Promising”
—Billboard outside Lhasa center
By Theresa M. Perrone ’97
View photos of trip to Beijing and Tibet
Since 1996 I have advocated for a negotiated resolution to situation in Chinese-occupied Tibet, educating people about the human rights situation there, and spending several years working for the International Campaign for Tibet, a Washington, DC-based nonprofit organization. The selection of Beijing as the host city for last year’s Olympic games was a flash-point for human rights activists and Tibet supporters. Some were eager to shine a light on China’s treatment of Tibetans, and denounced the country’s credibility to host the games. Others were optimistic that China would expand human rights and democratic freedoms as part of its coming-out party onto the world stage.
For a few weeks, I wrestled with the decision to attend the Olympics. I felt and still feel guilty for saying that, since so many people dream of securing tickets to what is, in its purest form, a genuine opportunity for an international celebration of athletics and culture. Still, I had spent more than a few hours in the months leading up to the Olympics explaining to family, friends, and colleagues my position that the treatment of Tibetans and the situation inside Tibet needed to feature prominently in post-Olympic dialogue with China. Suddenly, when faced with the opportunity to attend, I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.
I used to attend a lot of rallies. I used to sign a lot of petitions. I used to organize student actions and educational meetings and other social justice events, many of which centered on human rights in Tibet. Over time my involvement in human rights work changed. While I worked for and then consulted with major national and international non-profit organizations, I did so in my capacity as an organizer, a fundraiser, and a strategic communications consultant – not the stuff of civil disobedience. So here I was, being faced with a myriad of options: attend the Olympics and use the opportunity to openly demonstrate and risk arrest or worse, attend as a tourist and come back to the U.S. after a week in China, or attend as someone who has a keen sense of the history and political context, try to also pair the visit with an excursion to Tibet, and share what I learned with anyone who will listen.
Carson and I had some heated discussions about the Tibet issue. He had a much more favorable attitude towards the Chinese government, partly because he wasn’t familiar with the same events and issues that I was. I didn’t want him to think that I embraced some puerile attitude that the Chinese people – all of them – were “bad” or “wrong.” In fact, most people who are engaged with this topic understand its complexities. There are centuries of cultural context in Asia that bear minimal relation to our American story. There are sensitivities regarding religious and cultural beliefs, and decades of complicated Sino-US foreign policy. The issue exists only in shades of gray, to be addressed through open dialogue between Chinese and Tibetan representatives. Many American supporters believe that negotiations without precondition can be brokered by brokered by US diplomats and political figures.
I managed my desire to raise awareness with optimism for change in China. Awarding the games to Beijing at first appeared to be a huge setback for Tibet supporters, but also seemed to signal the possibility of improved dialogue, policy shifts, and an expansion of human rights and democratic freedoms for Tibetans and many other groups in China and Tibet. Unfortunately, after spending time in Beijing and in several Tibetan cities after that, my optimism significantly faded. I came away with a feeling that Chinese policy – in China and inside of Tibet – is like a house of cards waiting to collapse. I left realizing how very unsuccessful the takeover of Tibet has been – almost sixty years since the first soldiers invaded, and fifty years since the Dalai Lama and tens of thousands of Tibetans flex into exile in India. I returned home with strong desire to recommit myself to raising awareness and encouraging real progress and change.
I’m going to confess something: I prejudged China. In hindsight, I wasn’t wrong, but I’ll confess that before we ever packed our bags, applied for visas, and stocked up on UV-protective t-shirts, I was holding on to many preconceived ideas about Chinese society, politics, and culture. For one, I was nervous about the level of military and police presence. Also, I was concerned about the scope and rate of development in Beijing and in surrounding areas. Having been trained as a city planner, I had read about the razing of hutong neighborhoods to make room for Olympic venues and to “clean up” what might have been seen as “blighted” areas of the old city. It was important for me to approach China as objectively as possible, to be mindful of the things around me, and to pay close attention to the crush of events unfolding around us.
It was hard not to notice the extensive police presence in Beijing. From the officers roaming around Tiananmen to the soldiers in front of the Forbidden City, there was a sense of “security” at most tourist sites and major attractions. There were security cameras atop many (most?) of the lampposts along Xichangan St. and PA speakers scattered throughout the area. At a certain point the feeling of “security” fades into a feeling of discomfort. As Americans, we have the luxury of feeling independent and “unwatched” in our cities and tourist areas. Maybe it’s that we don’t notice the presence of police in Washington, DC or New York City, but it certainly seemed as if there were far more security personnel in Beijing, and more important, that they were willing and able to keep the peace at any cost if a disruption occurred.
As our time in Beijing wound down, an employee from our U.S.-based travel agency delivered Tibet travel permits to our hotel. Travel restrictions in China prevented us from securing permits for independent travel in Tibet. Rather, we had to be escorted on a ten-day private tour by a guide and a driver. Since we were interested in exploring several cities, we welcomed the opportunity to travel with Tibetan guides.
The first stop on our trip was Tsedang, a mid-sized city not far from Gongkar International Airport. We headed to Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, the next morning, and were shocked and surprised at what we saw. My first reaction was that Lhasa was suddenly very “Chinese” – wide roads, huge “complex” style apartments and commercial buildings, and iron fencing lining the street. All of the streets had Chinese names, with Tibetan names written in smaller letters from time to time. It should be noted that Tibetan and Chinese are distinctly different languages with distinctly different alphabets. That is to say, Tibetan characters do not look the same as Chinese characters. For a European, a street sign written in French might be deciphered by an Italian. Not so in Tibet – those who know how to speak and understand may still not know how to read and write in Chinese, making it difficult to navigate their own capital city.
As we neared downtown, we noticed that Lhasa resembled much of Beijing: high-end shops with Chinese or sometime English signage lined the streets. More short iron fencing prevented jaywalking and unfettered access to the opposite side of the street. Unlike Beijing though, soldiers were liberally sprinkled throughout Lhasa. Each bus stop and street corner included either a pair or group of four to five soldiers. Their guns were pointed towards the air, they glared and tried to look serious (until they saw us, at which point they would excitedly say “Hello” in English, hoping we would say hello back to them). It was frightening and tense. The soldiers at the bus stops were stationed there to ensure that there were no monks riding the city buses. We learned that the monks are often more willing to talk about the plight of Tibetans with Westerners or other travelers, and thus, are not permitted the freedom to travel on public transportation.
The soldiers at the street corners were mainly congregated near the downtown outdoor marketplaces (where vendors sold fruit, vegetables, and household items). They would stand under a large umbrella, with fatigues, helmets, and weapons, watching the passers-by. Other soldiers were on patrol, walking in groups of five to ten, in double file with riot gear (such as plexiglass shields). It was most disturbing to see these soldiers, as they created an anxiety that we hadn’t felt in Beijing. They marched in lock-step at a quick pace down the center of the sidewalk and would pivot at the end of a block and march back down to their starting point. Sometimes, they would march to the end of a block, stop and stand there for several minutes, then turn and continue marching.
Many of the patrols we saw were in front of the Potala Palace. The Dalai Lama’s home before he fled into exile in 1959, the Potala is a spectacular building erected in the seventh century. Since the Chinese occupation, it has been converted into a museum with daily opportunities to visit. Many Tibetan pilgrims travel from distant parts of Tibet to see and visit the Potala, and it remains an especially important building both spiritually and politically. The large police presence was difficult to understand and even more difficult to ignore.
My friends and family had mixed reactions when I told them we were heading to Beijing for the Olympics (followed by ten days in Tibet, a few days in Nepal, and a week in the Middle Eastern sultanate of Oman). Some were thrilled that we would be sitting in the stands, watching judo, tennis, track cycling, women’s track and field, and soccer at what was expected to be an historic experience. Others were surprised that I would be attending the events, but wondered if I would take part in protests, demonstrations, or other activist work. Carson, a lifelong athlete with little background on the situation in Tibet, was excited for us to attend the games purely as tourists. With several international trips under our belts, we both approached the trip as a learning opportunity, a time to soak in the dramatic political, social, environmental and many other changes that Beijing was experiencing. For me, I wanted very badly to be proven wrong about my preconceived ideas about China’s press, its human rights, and its political stance toward the Tibetan people.
